


Birdwatcher

by ayjee



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, nothing graphic but Carrington IS working for that money here, shrapnel removal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: “Well, next time someone yells 'grenade', do us both a favor and run."
Kudos: 8





	Birdwatcher

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to inquisitor_tohru for going over this. <3 Remaining mistakes are all mine

“So, doc. Tell me about--” Ree gasped as Carrington removed a metal fragment from her arm. “Little Carrington. About your life. Where are you from?”

Carrington didn't even look at her. “Is now really the best time for chit-chat?”

“Humor me,” she said through gritted teeth. The tweezers poked around the wound; she brushed sweat from her upper lip.

“Salisbury,” Carrington said eventually. 

“Maryland?”

A chuckle. “England.”

“No way,” Ree exclaimed, sitting up straight and yelping at the sharp pain in her arm. 

Carrington snarled and pushed her back on the stretcher. “Stay still, or I swear to god I’m tying you up!”

“All talk,” Ree sneered, but a wave of queasiness washed over her and she complied. Carrington resumed picking shards off her arm, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“I didn’t know… I thought Europe was gone,” Ree said after a pause.

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. It made sense, I guess? I assumed everyone there had died when the bombs fell.”

Carrington shrugged. “Many died, and a handful survived, same as here. This is gonna hurt,” he said casually, and proceeded to pull what felt like a rail spike from her trembling arm. Ree tried not to whine -- and failed.

Slow. Breaths. “How did you even make it here? By plane?” The thought seemed pretty ridiculous, but then, so had the idea of survivors outside the States until now. 

“By boat. My parents and a couple of friends joined their savings to buy their ticket aboard some billionaire’s ship.”

Trust men to keep milking each other for money in the middle of a nuclear apocalypse. "How old were you?”

“Four, maybe five.” Half Shaun's age. “I don't remember much of England, but the boat left a mark.”

“I can imagine.” She wracked her brain for the memory of a cruise gifted by American Airlines, most of it spent high on Mentats and meeting her boss below deck. The machine room had seemed like a dark, exciting place. “How was the crossing?”

“Unpleasant. I think that's the last of them,” Carrington said. “Let's get you patched up.”

She groaned. “Thank God! My arm’s about to fall off."

“Well, next time someone yells  _ grenade _ , do us both a favor and run. Here, hold this in place,” he said, guiding her hand to rest on a cloth over the opposite arm. “More pressure, please -- yes, like this.” 

Ree watched him mix a green powder with water, the smell pungent and medicinal. “What’s this?”

“It will speed up healing," Carrington said, giving the mix a few more whisks. "Help with the cicatrisation process. How’s your face?” 

“Sore.” This got her a chuckle.

“Let me know if the headaches are too much. The black eye I can't help with, I'm afraid.”

“Deacon says it adds to my fearsome Railroad persona.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself,” Carrington smirked as he peeled the cloth off her arm. He nodded at the lightly blood-stained fabric and then set to apply the mixture to her wounds. The healing gel was cold; downright icy where the grenade's fragments had broken through the skin. “You're lucky the raider got most of it.” 

Ree snorted. Arm fucked up, half a concussion, hair and side peppered with raider gore: she'd known better. Jacket ruined, too. Shame, it had done a great job at keeping her safe since she’d looted it from Kellogg’s back. She supposed she  _ could _ just cut the second sleeve off, sew the hem properly, but she needed the protection on her arms, too. Obviously.

“You could just wear heavy armor, you know,” Carrington said, a touch of annoyance in his voice as he finally tied the bandage around her arm.

“Not a chance. You ever tried to tiptoe in that thing? Or crawl? We aim for discretion, as you well know.”

“You used a missile launcher in the middle of a Raiders’ nest,” Carrington pointed out. His brow didn’t even twitch.

She held his gaze, heat creeping up her face. “We came through, didn't we? And for the record, they had an Assaultron. Surely Deacon mentioned it.”

“Only ten times or so.” Carrington set to clean his instruments, effectively dismissing her. Ree got up slowly, pressing a tentative hand against her bandaged arm - and hissed.

“Any advice for my recovery?”

“None that you’d follow.”

Well, he wasn’t exactly  _ wrong _ . “It’s nice to know you care,” Ree said, gathering her things. “I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the lovely chat, doc.”

“Angry medic on your six,” Deacon muttered when she sat back at her desk. “You really need to stop riling him up.”

She supposed she  _ could _ try harder not to rise to the challenge of Carrington’s abrasiveness, but unfortunately, she’d never been able to turn down a distraction. “What can I say, I’m irresistible.”

“With both eyes visible and a little less swollen, I’m sure.”

“That bad?”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t cure, partner.” Deacon leaned in, fingers tapping on the terminal before her. “Ready for the next job?”

Her arm hurt, her head hurt, her hearing hadn’t completely recovered; truth be told, the one thing she was ready for was a nap. Or a Med-X, perhaps, but neither were luxuries the Railroad could afford.

“Always, but you’ll have to go easy on me.” She moved her bandaged arm, carefully. “My aim will probably be off for a day or two, and don’t you dare drag me in a melee. You’ll have to finesse it, Deacon.”

“You _wound_ me. When am I not at the top of my game? Besides, we’re just gonna retrieve dead drops for now. Cleaning house can wait.”

Ree tilted her head at Desdemona, chain smoking next to the black board and its ever-shrinking list of safehouses. “You sure about that?”

“Dead men tell no tales, partner, and dead agents clean no houses.”

“I guess not.”

“Chin up. I’ll keep you safe until that arm heals. Well… mostly safe.”

Ree snorted. “That’s reassuring.”

“And if you do get hurt again, well.” Deacon let out a dramatic sigh. ”Guess there will be no choice but to harass poor Carrington over here for medical attention.” 

“A damn shame.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Deacon’s smile grew wider. “So… ready to head out?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
